Aftertaste
by notbang
Summary: Sometimes, Addison wishes he'd just sign the papers.


**aftertaste.**

Addison had first met Derek Shepherd during her internship, back when she'd been younger and maybe nicer, a little more jittery and a hell of a lot more competitive because back then she hadn't been the best, she hadn't been on top, she hadn't made it through the first few years and she'd still had a hell of a lot to prove. It had been a good thing that they weren't in grade school and carving lovehearts and initials on every door frame because Derek hadn't had the time to do that, so it was just as well that Addison hadn't had the time to sit around waiting for him to. She knew the true meaning of being an intern, of trying to hold together a semblance of a life outside a hospital, of what speed dating _really_ was. 

She knew what it was like to never waste one second, to be driven to meetings in broom closets and elevators, and to know when asking for anything more just wasn't fair. And she knew how unbelievably frustrating it was to combine seventy two hour shifts with being young, naïve and head-over-heels, blindly, giddily in love.

Most of all, she knew all too well what it was like to be Meredith Grey.

Which was why Addison never played the role of the adulterous bitch that Derek wanted her to fill, never did anything more than bite back her tongue except for that one, indulgent, self gratifying moment of cruelty that she wished she could take back. She'd been young and foolish once, everyone had, and she was the last person to have the right to blame someone for being enchanted by her husband when even she herself, incorrigible Addison Montgomery, had been forced to look twice – she always had when it concerned him. It was one of the reasons she found herself back in Seattle.

She didn't expect Derek to forgive her for Mark. He'd been a result of neglect – on both their parts – of proof that there was such a thing as too focused. She wasn't asking for forgiveness, or redemption, or anything that was beyond his power to give. She was asking for a second chance. His hand in helping repair their marriage because she wanted to prove to him, wanted to him to see if he could realise, for just a moment, that she could still be the woman he'd fallen in love with. And just when she'd thought persistance was not enough, he'd handed her back the papers, unsigned, and looked at her, lost. Man of his word he couldn't do it, couldn't say _today is the end of forever, today this/us/we die, today I do you part._ In the end, his ring had brought him home.

She felt like she was a first year all over again.

Addison loved her husband with all her heart and she'd wanted him back, more than anything. But it wasn't just the hair, the slightly Russell Crowe-ness and his trailer. It was _everything_. She'd wanted him to choose her, but she'd wanted him to want it, too. Addison saw the looks, the glances, the smiles of _understanding,_ intimacy; Meredith Grey didn't just appeal to Derek because she was the anti-Addison. She appealed to him because she stood for everything _derekandaddison_ should have / could have / would have been. Addison had only had time for the big things, when Meredith, with Meredith, he had time to share the little things. The details, like ferryboats and green M&Ms. Casual, rather than sophisticated. She wasn't just what he wanted. She was what he needed.

_Maybe marriage had been the wrong choice to begin with. They were already married to their jobs. Maybe she'd/he'd/they'd been asking too much._

It's the reason some days, Addison wished he hadn't chosen her. That he'd opted for tiny ineffectual fists and Ani Difranco and the last piece of cheesecake, if that was what would make him happy. Because more than having him walk in on her in her darkest moment, more than finding him gone, more than him saying no it hurt to witness the yearning, the emptiness, the sorrow and the resentment, even if he didn't notice it himself. It hurt to have him so close and yet so far away, to watch him slowly slip between her fingers and seep into cracks she knew would never be repaired. 

_She knew his faults better than anyone. Knew where to hit where it hurt the most. Meredith didn't, they barely fought, but maybe, maybe that was what a surgeon needed. There wasn't time for that kind of commitment; they'd been stupid to try._

She wanted to tell him _this is obligation, not devotion_ but she couldn't, because somewhere along the line they'd stopped talking and maybe, long before that, they'd stopped listening.

Addison would never forget her first love, her true love, her one and only. She almost threw it all away once, sacrificed everything in the name of loneliness and desperation (_exasperation?_) and she wouldn't do it again. But because she _loved/still loves/always will love_ Derek, she would let him go.

_She saw it every day – in waiting rooms, at bedsides. Sometimes, many times, _almost always - _love just wasn't enough. _

Which is why some days, _most days_ - Addison wished Derek would just sign the goddamned papers.


End file.
